by Cebelius
"Lies are unbecoming," the fox man replied. "What might once have been true is no longer so. That is no proxy, fair maiden. Tis your body, right and true, and unspoiled by the touch of man, or you'd not have received my advances."
"Unimportant," Terry growled, reaching for the man's ruffled collar and giving him a shake to make sure he had Renardine's full attention. "The fuck did you think you were doing anyway? It doesn't take a genius to figure out we'd stomp you."
"Actually, your victory was very much in question," Renardine said, his tone more than a little defensive. "How was I to know you'd so quickly lay hands on my shadow men? To all inanimate things they are immune. It is a rare breed that would not draw weapons against them first. You must be a skilled monster hunter."
"No, that would be me," Yuri huffed as he walked up, sounding irritated. "He is just annoyingly lucky."
Asturial chuckled, and when Terry spared her a glance she shrugged lightly and — still smiling broadly — said, "Well? It's true. Had these been truth wraiths instead of mere shadow men, touching them would have drained your life away."
Terry gave up and and shook his head. "Oh well. I'll take lucky over good for now. Back to you though, Chucklenuts. What did you want with my woman?"
"I once would have dallied with such a one. I am lean, mean, sexy and fine, and there isn't a woman alive I can't make mine."
He grinned rakishly, but as Terry bared his teeth in an irritated snarl Renardine hurried on. "Lately, much to my regret, I have been pressed into service bringing my conquests to Koschei, lest I suffer his wrath."
Terry, without taking his hand from Renardine's neck, twisted to look up at Isthil and the others, then glanced back down at Renardine as he asked, "Who the fuck is Koschei?"
"I know precious little, save that he is called 'The Deathless.' He invaded the Carnival of the Soul and deposed the lord and lady there, forcing them into the roles of lowly performers. His minions seek women of beauty who die virgins and other such who wander into the Wildervast. They are brought to him for his despoilment."
"Minions like you," Terry said sourly.
"My good sir, there are none like me," the fox man said brightly. "I am a highwayman par excellence."
Terry grunted as he stood and hauled Renardine to his feet. The fox man smiled jauntily, then the breath whooshed from his lungs as Terry planted a fist in his guts, then spun him around and sent him stumbling toward Asturial as he said, "He targeted you. You decide what to do with him."
Asturial reached out, caught Renardine by the throat, and looked him in the eye, frowning thoughtfully.
The fox man attempted a winsome smile.
Asturial's frown deepened. She flexed, lifted the highwayman par excellence off his feet one-handed, and with a quick flick of her wrist, snapped his neck.
As she dropped the still-twitching corpse, she glanced at Terry, whose eyebrows had gone all the way up. The move had impressed the hell out of him despite the fact he was already well aware of her strength.
"Asturial? You are one bad bitch. You know that, right?"
She frowned at him, then said, "Your tone and words do not match. Is being a 'bad bitch' a good thing?"
He nodded earnestly as he said, "Long as you're on my team, yes. Yes it is."
She grinned at that and said, "Very well then. I accept the compliment despite the fact it makes little sense."
He shrugged, laughing as he said, "You have no idea."
The shadows had left no trace, but Rendardine seemed to be as real as it got. Terry picked up the rapier, swished it through the air, then spent a moment retrieving the man's belt with its sheath. He left the gun on the ground, but when he found a small bag filled with black powder, he secured it to his belt next to the sheath. Another small bag held lead balls and wads of paper, but Terry didn't know how to load a gun and knew he was just as likely as not to blow his hand off if he tried. He left it where it was.
"What is this?" Asturial asked as she toed the gun. Terry hesitated to answer, thinking about what he should say. The technology required was far beyond anything he'd seen on Celestine, and he wasn't quite sure what to make of it. In the end, he decided to lie with the truth.
"Useless. That's a one-shot weapon, and it's been fired," he said. "It's harmless now."
To emphasize the point, he picked it up, cocked it, and pulled the trigger, letting her hear the click before dropping it again.
"Huh. I've never seen the like," Asturial said. "Seems like a lot of work for just one use."
"There's a reason you don't see them very often," Terry said, turning away and resisting the urge to touch the scar between his eyes.
"I wonder if there are other template weapons here," Asturial said with more than a little eager curiosity in her voice.
Oh dear God, I hope not, he thought, but did not say. Nothing about Renardine made sense. The technology he'd had — everything from his pistol and sword to his clothes — was three hundred years more advanced than anything else he'd seen on Celestine.
"That sword, may I see it?" Yuri asked.
Terry turned to Yuri, then shifted the sheath on his belt forward, inviting the other man to draw. The sword was a rapier with a basket hilt, and Yuri drew it and flicked it through the air, then examined the blade a moment before sheathing it again.
"An odd weapon. Light and long, but weak and of no use defensively."
Shrugging, Terry said nothing. The evolution of war on Earth wasn't a subject he wanted to discuss. While he was no scholar, he'd spent a lot of time researching war. When he'd been young, it had been an intellectual outlet of sorts, but now that knowledge filled him with foreboding.
He had a sudden urge to leave the rapier behind, but as it was he had no weapon but his hands.
Terry tried to shake the feeling off and took a few steps, but the feeling that he should abandon the sword only got stronger. He drew the blade, dropped the sheath, and sank the sword to the hilt in the ground. With a sharp wrench, he snapped the hilt off the blade, then tossed it away.
"Why did you do that?" Yuri asked. "Now you have no weapon."
"I had to," he said, bemused. "I don't know why ... it just, needed doing. That sword wasn't for me. Does that make any sense?"
To his surprise, Isthil answered.
"Aye. It makes sense to me. You've got good instincts or you wouldn't be alive now. Best to follow them. Remember where we are. In this place, bein' true to yer nature is always yer best bet."
13
Rakshasa
Isthil, with Asturial and her brother, vanished from sight. Mila let her breath out slowly and winced, struggling to concentrate through the pain. Her face throbbed. Her hands felt as though someone had poured sand into her joints and they grated with every tiny shift. She ached, and knew she was feverish. The pain had receded somewhat during the day, but as her weariness grew the pain grew along with it.
The tauren leadership was approaching. Mila straightened and leaned on her staff without seeming to. They hesitated a moment, as though trying to decide who to approach. Shy made the decision for them as she stepped forward, chin lifted as she asked, "How much did you know about this?"
Laila Rise of the Big Sky herd answered, her voice mellow and somewhat apologetic. "We were made aware of the indestructible beast a week ago when survivors began to trickle in out of the north. Several herds have been decimated. Vlad the Dreamer was here when the first herds arrived at the Labyrinth entrance, and looked to have been here some time. He spoke of calamity even then, and convinced us to leave him to dig this pit in peace."
As the minotress spoke, Terry's bonds gathered behind Shy. Laina set her heavy hand on the dryad's right shoulder. Euryale, finally recovered somewhat from her ordeal, had folded her brazen arms under her breasts and was staring fixedly at the tauren, her wings half spread as her snakes glared at individuals. The mask she wore hid her expression, but her mood was plain. Halla stood behind the other three and was flexing her hands, looking
frustrated more than anything. Her golden eyes were fixed on Laila as the minotress spoke.
Mila looked around, but saw no trace of Prada. Her search for the dopple was abridged as Shy said, "There will be consequences if we learn this fight and its attendant complications were arranged, Miss Rise."
"How dare you accuse us!" said a minotaur dressed in fine wool dyed in dark reds and browns. "You harbored a template against the accords. Worse, he antagonized one of our own in a blatant effort to ruin the young lad's reputation!"
Several of Euryale's snakes hissed and she took a half-step forward as the minotaur made himself a target for the gorgon's frustrated rage. The minotaur must not have known what she was, because his fists clenched and he drew himself up to his full height in response.
Shy tilted her head toward the gorgon and spoke in a tone that sounded like a quiet murmur. Mila noticed though, that the dryad's voice was pitched loud enough for the gathered leaders to hear.
"Patience. You can kill them anytime."
The tigress smiled slightly, but only slightly. The expression pained her. Shy was obviously accustomed to dealing with people, despite her many years of isolation.
Shy lifted her head and met the minotaur's eyes as she raised her voice to add, "Euryale is so far beyond you that mere words cannot express the gap. If you wish to live you will not further antagonize her, or us."
As though to emphasize the point, Halla grew several feet until she towered over the offender in the same way he towered over Euryale. The oni smiled, but it wasn't a friendly expression, and her fangs glittered with promise. The minotaur opened his hands, and though he did not back down, he also did not speak again.
Shy set a hand on her hip and glanced pointedly around as she said, "Now. What accords?"
Mila opened her mouth to answer, but the ache in her face forced her to grit her teeth, and she heard Laila's voice dimly through the pain.
"The laws of our people, through which we maintain peace despite our disparate ways. Templates are to be declared, and their use permitted by all the herds."
"We are not part of your society," Shy said quietly. "Needless to say, we had no knowledge of this law."
"Granted, but now that you do know, be aware: templates are communal property. You will be expected to allow the use of him once he reappears."
Mila knew that Terry would never permit himself to be so used, but to her surprise Shy seemed perfectly agreeable as she said, "Of course. When he reappears, you are welcome to make use of him however you can. Had we known of your law, we might have acted differently. Perhaps in the meantime, you should provide us with a copy of your accords so that we do not unknowingly transgress again?"
Mila's eyes shifted from Shy to Euryale, who had openly turned and seemed to be staring at Shy. Laina's lips were pursed, but she was nodding, and Halla was watching the minotress, apparently taking queues from her.
Hopefully, none of these tauren realize I already knew of the accords, she thought, and kept quiet and still as Laila Rise considered Shy's words, then nodded.
"Sensible. I presume you'll continue to shelter these women, Yesun?" the minotress asked with a glance toward their host, who nodded easily.
"Yes, of course."
"I'm hungry. I want to eat."
Halla's words seemed to amuse some of the tauren, but Mila understood it for the warning that it was. If Halla didn't get food, she'd go 'hunting.'
"I'll escort you to your yurt," Yesun Tege's voice was still easygoing. "Yuri spoke to me earlier, and we have several head of livestock waiting for you there."
Halla's golden eyes fixed on the minotaur and followed him as he slipped past the others in his group and said casually over his shoulder, "I suggest we call a moot to notify the other herds of recent developments. I will attend shortly."
"That is wise," the minotaur who had earlier spoken in anger grumbled, and the group of leaders turned inward and began to speak amongst themselves.
Mila trailed along behind the others as they followed Yesun Tege, and her own attention focused inward. Her suffering was only growing more intense.
When they finally reached the yurt, she passed by the others and entered without a word. She heard the door caught behind her, and then Laina's voice.
"You don't look so good," the minotress said. "Do you want some of my milk?"
"Yes, Laina. Please. I do not know what is happening, but it is becoming very hard to ignore."
As Mila sat gratefully on a camp stool, Laina began to rummage, then stopped and looked back at Mila, wincing apologetically as she said, "Uh ... Mila? I sold all the milk I had bottled. I'm ready but, um ... I'll go get Shy."
The tigress smiled wanly and said, "Do not mistake me for Terry. I grew up around tauren and I do not share his hang-ups. You and I are family now in every way that matters. If you do not mind, I do not mind. I am in great pain, and if you are willing I would rather not wait."
"Yeah, Shy told me. Okay."
Laina reached up and pulled loose the end of her sarashi. She unwound it without ceremony as she stepped behind one of the curtains that segmented the yurt as she said, "Come on."
Mila forced herself back to her feet and followed the titanic minotress. The curtain closed behind them and Laina wrapped an arm around Mila's shoulders as the tigress traced the shape of the larger woman's breast with her hands. The light here was dim, bleeding under the curtain from the stove in the center of the yurt.
She found Laina's nipple with her tongue and pulled it without hesitation past her lips, cautious not to bite as she pressed in and slowly toward herself with her hands. The minotress lowed quietly and Mila tasted the warm rush of flavor as the milk flowed, and she drank gratefully, almost tearing up in pure relief as her pains seemed to run away from the spreading warmth the milk sent through her body.
Yet though the pain receded, the feeling of actual discomfort grew more intense. She abruptly stopped drinking and the earth seemed to shift out from under her feet. She didn't even realize she was on the ground until she felt Laina picking her up as she bellowed for Shy.
Everything inside her seemed to writhe. Her fingers were twisting weirdly under her flesh and she could feel her bones crumbling. The fact that there was no pain only made the experience more surreal, more terrifying. Without the pain she was allowed to focus on what was happening inside her, throughout her, and she knew that Terry's 'gift' was finally at play within her body. She was changing, and her lips parted as she tried to scream. Her breath hitched as her her mouth opened wider, then wider still, and she couldn't seem to stop it. Her jaw abruptly unhinged as her teeth began to fall out.
The sheer horror of feeling her teeth pop out of their places as her jaw hung loose was too much for her, and she passed out.
Mila returned to consciousness and opened her eyes. Light shed by a single candle described for her the small section of the yurt set aside for her, and she saw Laina set against one of the posts holding up the roof of their dwelling. Her head was down on her crossed arms as she slept.
She smiled softly as she saw the sleeping minotress, then blinked as the expression felt different on her face. She lifted a hand to explore herself, but froze as she saw to her horror that her hands were bizarrely changed.
In a word, they were backward. She made a fist and watched in fascination as her fingers curled out to close. Her thumb was still above her palm, but her palm and the back of her hand had changed places. It was as though her right hand were now on her left arm, and vice-versa. It felt natural to her, but it wasn't natural, though it did tell her what she was. What she had become.
She lifted one of them to gingerly explore the sabers now depending from her upper jaw, ending in sharp spikes about an inch below her chin. She explored her mouth and found she had an entirely new set of teeth. They fit together perfectly, and she knew they would never break or chip. She opened her mouth, and found her lower mandible had an amazing range of motion. More than enough to allow her to sink
her new sabers into prey and hold on.
Terry's gift to me, she mused in silent wonderment. He's turned me into a Rakshasa.
Rakshasi were exceptionally rare, with no more than one known to any ten generations of her people. Vlad had been one, though he'd used magic to hide the reversal of his hands in the presence of outsiders. Now, so was she.
She felt at her shoulders and marveled as her field of view diminished. She lifted her arms and looked at each, taking note of the new eye-shaped stripes just below the meat of each shoulder. When she thought about it, she realized that her field of view with her shoulders bare was complete. She could see all around herself simultaneously.
Her body had always been sleek and strong, but now the definition of her muscle stood out even under a layer of fur.
She thought back to what Prada had said about Terry's bond gifts, about the theory that his bond granted a wish, and wondered if she had ever wished to be as she now was.
What did I want that could turn me into this?
Mila leaned up and folded her arms over her knees as she looked absently at Laina. Her backward hands showed their palms to the minotress, but Mila's attention was turned almost entirely inward as she considered everything that was known about Rakshasi.
She had the eye marks, the teeth, the great strength, and the backward hands, but those were only outward manifestations. Rakshasi were ageless, but not eldritch. Rather, they were said to appear during times of calamity, and were either the source of that calamity, or the resolution. A Rakshasa could tell perfect lies, but could not be lied to, or so it was said. Above all, they had a great facility for magic, and Vlad had said that the laws of affinity did not apply to a Rakshasa. Their spells were always maximally efficient, and cast to maximum effect.
Vlad.
His name sounded in her mind, and she knew he was the reason she was like this now. She had hated him all her life. She hated him for every one he sent away on quests from which none returned. She hated him for killing her Master and prematurely ending her study of magic. She hated him most of all for what he'd done to her brother, forcing him into accepting a quest he wanted no part of, to take up a role he had no interest in. She knew in retrospect that Vlad had killed Master Finnegan to give her no reason to stay, all but forcing her to accompany her brother on his quest.